


contraria tellus will rise

by Olympus



Series: in which: [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Depression, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, finding yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olympus/pseuds/Olympus
Summary: Marcellus Siege called off the hierarchy for no good reason. It was then, in the haze of depression that had hovered over him since Cassie came back, that he thought it was a good idea. He doesn't want to be blamed, because, really, who does?Unfinished.
Relationships: Logan Ambieu/Exie Shroud
Series: in which: [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543066
Kudos: 1





	contraria tellus will rise

**Author's Note:**

> this is still being written. i'm trying to get a grip on my own characters

The palace was empty. For once in his life, Marcellus felt like he could truly breathe. There was no aching feeling in his chest (because he missed his old friends), nor was there any sinking feeling that everything he depended on at the moment could disappear. 

But no matter what, Marcellus was still alone. He stood alone in the throne room, the mosaic-patterned ceiling beaming down colored beams of light on nothing, the gauntlet glowing eerily. It was a scene that should have been preserved for centuries to come, but the king felt absolutely nothing.

He had plans, yes, but the monumental fact he had to face it alone was terrifying. 

All he could do now was expend resources, discover more about Lyre—find out the truth of what happened between Diverge and Marcus all those years ago...

Siege had told Marcellus everything he knew about his father and the conqueror. That information, honestly, hadn’t been much. The god just detailed that Diverge somehow possessed Marcus, becoming king in his place. 

But how? What had allowed the god to do that? 

There were no written records of another god possessing a (for all Marcellus knew) mortal. Even though these gods were all-powerful, there were things they could simply not do. 

So Marcellus set his first mission. He looked up to see stained glass, and everything was sent into motion. 

Isle Siege was rainy, dreary in a way that made everything seem timeless. Evergreen trees were shrouded in fog so thick Marcellus couldn’t see past the first layer of the forest. 

The rain that pattered on the roof of the manor was soothing, however, and with the background noise the work was less tedious. Books piled up around the king, journals collected from when Marcus (or maybe Diverge at that point?) became king. 

A lot of the handwriting was difficult to decipher, the language having developed since the time these were written. There were letters written by various lords of the lands addressed to Marcus, many of them containing summaries as to what territory they held, or what they produced and exported. 

What Marcellus found amusing, however, were the faces that Marcus had drawn at the bottom of the paper. Little figures of (presumably) the ancient king with angry features lined the paper, exclamations of “no!” and “I hate this” accompanying the drawings. 

This gave Marcellus a picture of Marcus in his mind, and abruptly he was it with a longing to know the man who had created such a legacy. 

Putting these papers aside, Marcellus opened the desk he sat at, peering into the drawers. Fountain pens that had never been used rolled the front, but inside the king found a stack of letters. 

They were titled to someone named Ankh. 

My love,

I am writing this to you from Isle Siege. It is raining here, and every day I wish for your presence to shine upon me once again… It has only been a few days, but I miss you more than ever. Ankh, please finish up this business quickly; we are waiting with bated breath for news of you.

Your King, 

Marcus.

His handwriting was neat, yet shaky as if he had only learned the written language later in life. The person he had written to, Ankh… it sounded familiar, as if Marcellus had seen it written elsewhere. 

Why weren’t there mentions of this person in Timoris’ palace? 

The king stood, a hand on the desk drawer after placing the paper back where it had been. He wondered if perhaps whoever this was would be mentioned in later records, the ones written by Marcus’ children and grandchildren. 

It was with that thought that Marcellus remembered where he had heard the name Ankh. 

Marcus’ emperor, the person he had chosen to rule by his side. Marcus had left behind a journal from before he was king, where Marcellus had found the parchment Siege had translated for him.

In the journal was the description of one of his companions, a Vehx. A being that was the embodiment of magic, dark skin almost matching Marcus’ own. However, this Vehx had a third eye embedded in their forehead, giving the ability to see things that weren’t always there. Marcus had been amazed, and enlisted their help in his conquest. 

It seems now that Ankh and Marcus became something more than that. 

Marcellus moved away from the desk, making his way to some of the more recent bookshelves that contained new records of Alaric. 

The king rifled through some papers before coming up with another mention of Ankh, this time having to do directly with Timoris. It was another handwritten page, the handwriting unlike Marcus’ from before. It was spidery and thin, though obviously came from someone that ahd been taught from a young age.

It was the charter from the Siege family to build the University of Timoris. The name signed at the bottom was unfamiliar to Marcellus: Julius Siege. 

Pulling purely from the dates on the paper, Marcellus thought that maybe this was the son of Marcus and Ankh. Turning the page over confirmed his thoughts. 

This charter had not been official, and on the backside Julius had scrawled down some notes.

Have mom Ankh teach?

Marcellus put back the paper. He studied the bookshelf for a moment, considering what he had learned. Would it be possible that the University still held records of Ankh, thousands of years after its founding? 

The University of Timoris was magnificent. If Marcellus had still been on Earth, he would have described the architecture as renaissance in thought, but executed with major gothic elements. 

There were high peaks reaching towards the Vual’s land as well as curving arches in which students walked underneath. The grounds were vast, pockets of old trees and ponds serving as a habitat for the native smaller animals.

Marcellus knew that he would be recognized as King on sight, and that presented a problem. For one, he could not jump directly to the main office as he wished (there were warding runes designed by Julius protecting it from that sort of thing), and there was always the chance that they might not even be able to give him any records despite the fact he was king.

It was with a sigh that Marcellus set off to the heart of the campus. Along the way he heard people whisper, sometimes without realizing just who they were speaking about.

“He must be a Vehx. They get free rides here, you know.”

“I bet with horns like that he’s not from around here, fuck the Foca.”

There was a part of Marcellus that was used to those comments, both from his time on Earth as well as the few months he had spent as a nobody in the Timoris underground. But no matter what—they stung. There were people in Marcellus’ country that couldn’t hold off those comments in the way he could, who couldn’t fight back either politically or through actions. 

It steeled him in his decision to change Alaric in a way that hadn’t been done before.

By the time he reached the office, the people around had thinned into a few individuals, each on their way to another part of the campus. 

The main office itself was a large building that was rather isolated when compared to other parts of the university, especially when considered that this building was most likely well over two thousand years old. The architecture style resembled that of Palace Timoris, and knowing that the founder of the school had regular access to the palace, everything made complete sense. 

The doors were a heavy oak, worn brass studding the top and the bottom as well as making the handles. Pulling the open, Marcellus was greeted with a cold blast of air.

There was not only that, however. The familiar sensation of magic washed over him, igniting a burn in his very core that he had felt many times before. There was a tingling feeling in the hand that housed the gauntlet, runes interacting with the wards protecting the building—meaning that these wards were not attuned towards such instruments. 

These wards had been in place before the gauntlet had come into existence. 

Once he was fully inside, the king approached a woman who looked rather bored with her job. She looked up, taking in Marcellus, recognition in her eyes. 

“Oh-um, do you have an appointment?” Her voice wavered, she obviously didn’t know how to address Marcellus, which he found pretty funny. 

“No, but I’m sure the President is able to see me.”

The girl nodded, refusing to make eye contact. She stood up and brushed nonexistent lint off her skirt. “This way, Sir.”

It was relatively awkward to be called that. He didn’t see himself truly as a ruling power in Alaric, rather, he usually held the reigns, but he often handed them off to the cities individual councils. 

They had a short walk down a hallway, portraits of previous presidents and alumni lining the hallways. The girl stopped at the end, and Marcellus took notice of a particular portrait that hung by the president’s door.

There was a man with a short stature, heavyset and muscular. He had the same skin as Marcellus, horns that curled like a ram rather than over the head as Marcellus’, and the same silver freckles over his forearms that the current king had as well. 

Julius Siege, the placard underneath read. It was a very realistic portrait, showing the man overlooking the construction of the University, details not taken away from anywhere. 

The girl knocked on the door, still not making eye contact with Marcellus. 

The door opened to two people, one of which was fuming. The taller was seated with her arms crossed, purple eyes betraying a simmering anger. The person who answered the door was shorter, but held an air to them that made them seem much taller, regal in a way that was often hard to maintain. 

Their eyes widened briefly before maintaining an impassive mask. “Marcellus Siege. I have been wondering how long it would take you to come to me.” They looked back at the seated woman. 

“Parodia, I must ask you to come back at a later time, preferably when I am not acting as President.” Their voice was smooth, no accent telling where they had come from. 

The woman stood, balancing delicately upon heels. “Oh, I will. You’ll see me again soon enough, Ankh.”

She swept out of the room, the girl who led Marcellus there following her. 

It was just the two now. 

“Ankh.”

They tilted their head, still standing in the doorway. “That is my name. I assume you know who I am?”

Marcellus nodded, entering the room and finding a seat; he was vaguely uncomfortable, questions and thoughts swirling around his head at a thousand miles per hour.

“How are you still alive? I thought—”

“There is much you do not know, Marcellus, and I will not stand to answer any question that might come into your mind. I have humored your family for ages.”

Marcellus was quiet. Everything clicked—Ankh has been around for thousands of years, staying alive while their descendants have lived and died. They have seen the absolute worst, unable to do anything about it. It is understandable that Ankh is desensitized to everything, and Marcellus would almost feel bad to drag them into this mess. 

He made up his mind. “I have two questions, then I will leave you to your life.”

Once again, something flashed in Ankh’s face. “You are smarter already than many of your ancestors.” They closed the door finally, taking a seat behind their desk. “I… You must understand that at a certain point I cannot claim your family as my own. It has been so many years since Marcus passed… I hold no responsibility for you anymore.”

Marcellus nodded, recognizing instantly that there was an emotion in Ankh’s voice that was raw, as if the memory of Marcus’ passing was still painful. 

“I don’t want to ask too much of you, but… what do you know of the storms that plague Alaric’s northeast coast?”

Ankh looked thoughtful, leaning forward to place their elbows on the desk. “Marcus conducted many experiments when he was—” they paused. “When he was himself. A few times he even weathered them out, and he’d come back changed. His magic would be unstable, it felt to me like something unnatural crackled in the air around him after that…” They trailed off, dark blue eyes narrowing at Marcellus.

“I feel the same around you. You have been in one of these storms?”

Marcellus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the Vehx in front of him seemed to look through his soul. 

“They call to me, for some reason. I had been investigating an… incident that happened. I stayed the night through the storm,” his voice sounded a little off, even to himself. “During that time, I heard a voice speak to me.”

Ankh looked very interested, moving from their position to lean back, satisfied. “Marcus had a similar experience, from what I remember. I do not know anymore, but I advise you to be careful—there is a reason that those storms are dangerous.”

Marcellus wanted to ask further about the storms but bit his tongue. He knew that it would not be possible to push Ankh any further, especially if he needed to inquire about other matters. 

“I don’t intend on pushing it too far, I have too many plans. Now, were you aware of Lyre?”

He watched Ankh intently, looking for any changes in composure, eyes shrewd. With everything that had been unveiled, more and more questions had come into the light. 

Why hadn’t the public known about the existence of an entire country?

If there were people who had been alive since then, why did they keep quiet?

What had truly happened to mask the existence of the country? What had caused its tragedy?

Ankh sighed heavily. “I only know as much as I have heard. The country was hidden from sight for years and years, I don’t retain any memories of the place. However…” Ankh was suddenly dead serious, once again capturing Marcellus’ attention. They seemed truly alive for the first time. 

“Marcus told me years ago that gods could keep secrets from the entire world as long as one mortal knows and keeps that secret. I believe this can be what has happened here, but at the same time...” Ankh looked away from Marcellus, lost in thought. “Why were you able to find the country? And who hid it for so long?”

The king smiled, attempting to keep the atmosphere light, “I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions.”

“Yes, but I am trying to be serious,” they stated. “Marcus told me that he had foresaw someone who would be the ruler that he could never be.” Ankh met Marcellus’ eyes once more as they tapped their fingers on the wood of the desk. 

“Is that you?”

Marcellus did his best to not return to the palace. He would avoid it for as long as possible, going as far to consider making amends with Belle and Enzo before quickly reminding himself of the circumstances that kept him from doing that.

The fact that they’re legally bound to hunt him down and kill him was one such circumstance. 

But that wasn’t something to dwell on at the moment, especially not when there was a cute guy buying him a drink.

Marcellus had gotten tired of the stares, and in a fit of “god why do I have fucking horns” he had ended up making them disappear. 

Not permanently, of course, but through the use of runes that caused a headache for the better part of the day. Not only that, but the moment he had been without them Marcellus had fallen over and scraped his hands. He looked forward to when he could revert to his normal form. Not only that, but his skin had gone from blue to the original dark brown, leaving Marcellus looking pretty much as he would if he stayed on Earth. 

“So, where are you from?” The man sat on a stool next to him. He had darker skin, a purplish tinge to it marking him as only partly human. 

Marcellus hadn’t prepared any stories, and he couldn’t really say Chicago. “I was raised around Fain, though I moved here to go to school at Timoris,” he said, (maybe) slightly awkward. 

“Wow, fancy magic, huh?” He smiled at him, charming and slightly crooked. “I’m Antony.”

The king smiled back, “Marcellus, though people shorten it to Marce usually.” He looked down to swirl the alcohol in his glass. 

“That’s a pretty dope name, honestly. How’d you end up here?” Antony asked casually, leaning backward onto the counter. 

Marcellus sighed. “I’ve been isolating myself for a while, but lately I just can’t stand being alone… it’s just too much sometimes, you know?”

“Definitely. I bought this place with a picture in mind, I wanted to make sure anyone could meet anybody,” Antony said, looking from Marcellus out into the club.

“Oh, you own this place?” The king was sort of embarrassed he hadn’t realized that, though he wasn’t sure there was any way he could have known.

Antony laughed, “Yeah, it’s been here for a couple years now… I’ve never seen you here though, and mostly people are regulars… the college students, at least.” 

“Honestly, this is the first time I’ve been out in a while. I mean, I haven’t been cooped up totally, just anti-social.” Marcellus sipped his drink. 

“I getcha. Your drinks here right now are on the house, yeah? Oh, and we’ll be broadcasting the news in Marbas soon, so it might ruin the atmosphere,” Antony paused and sighed, looking older than he should. “I know it’s only been a few years since we’ve been united, but seeing other countries going through the same thing is heartbreaking.”

This was the first Marcellus had heard of anything international, though he was extremely out-of-loop due to him being away from the throne. “Wait—what news?”

Antony looked surprised. “You haven’t heard? A woman has come out, a descendent of Adrasteia Seleukos… pretty much the same story our king had,” he said, pointing at a TV mounted above the bar, causing it to blink to life. The channel flipped as Antony pointed, changing to a news channel. The man withdrew his hand, instead picking up a previously ignored drink from the bar counter. 

The channel showed an enormous crowd, not unlike Marcellus’ own first appearance in public, though this time a large part of the crowds were protesters. 

“Marbas had been ruled since the last Seleukos only by councils, kinda like Jeraii… except, uh, not genocidal,” Antony explained. “The last few centuries have seen the same families getting elected into these councils, and I’d bet that these protesters are angry to see a woman able to change things.”

Marcellus nodded, finding his eyes glued to the screen. The camera zoomed in on a woman that seemed strangely familiar—purple eyes, tall, intimidating. 

Parodia, the woman Ankh had been talking with. 

Why had she been in Alaric? Why was she at the university? So many questions were slowly piling up, and Marcellus had pretty much no way to answer them. 

“I know her… I saw her a couple days ago, I mean. That’s so weird,” the king said, looking back at Antony. 

He looked surprised. “Wow! Small world, huh…”

“Oh—and that name you mentioned earlier, Seleukos? Who were they?”

Antony shot a funny look at Marcellus that caused him to blush (blue, because there was no way to conceal the color of his blood). “You know, the conquerors? Marcus Siege, Adrasteia Seleukos, Sheela Uttar, the ones that created the first united countries and empire…”

“Shit, yeah, I remember now. I just haven’t really heard the names said out loud, it’s always been from books or something,” Marcellus explained, coming up with an excuse quickly. He felt foolish for not knowing this stuff, especially when it concerned his own country. 

Antony nodded, turning to look back at the screen. “It’s pretty interesting that all these people claiming to be the conqueror’s heirs are making appearances. I feel like something really important is brewing. You can feel it too, right?”

“Yeah,” Marcellus murmured, looking at the screen. 

The king of Alaric would be the harbinger of whatever was to come. 

Marcellus found himself at Isle Siege once again. This time, however, the weather had drastically changed. The rain had stopped, the fog had lifted—the king could see for miles in every direction from where he stood on the widow’s walk. The ocean was calmer today as well, though he knew that meant storms were coming.

But the views weren’t what Marcellus had come for. Rather, he needed information on the conquerors. The library held resources that could tell him about interactions between the Siege family and other countries, and if he was lucky, Marcellus might even find personal recounts on the people. 

It was with this hope that he spent the next three hours searching for something that may not even exist. He was lucky, though, and found records dating back to the founding of Bazat,

Marcellus was unfamiliar with the city (though he was unfamiliar with most outside of Alaric), but remembered what Siege had told him of it months ago—walls protecting the outside just as much as they protected the inside of the city. 

This parchment was addressed to Marcus Siege, which excited Marcellus more. 

Marcus, 

I have started the inscription of your runes into the walls of my city, and I deeply thank you. From both my people and myself, we are deeply in your debt, you have saved so many lives by giving us this protection.  
But as a friend, I urge you to stop pushing yourself so hard. Ntombi was right when she said that you’re leaving yourself open, the wound she saw has only grown. I worry for you, Marcus, and I have you in my prayers to Thrill. Please be careful, contact Aníbal when you can. He has seen something that might interest you. 

Until I may see you again, 

Jove. 

Marcellus went from his standing position to sitting on the floor, analyzing the letter as well as he could. He recognized the names as well he could, knowing the basis of who these people were. 

Jove Maryam, conqueror and ruler of Xylin and Versius. Ntombi Naliaka, the queen that created Zepar, the first known Wryth. And then Aníbal Rio, a man who was blessed with both prophet and seer magic, who united Ghep and its surrounding countries. 

Marcellus stood, paper in hand, looking for more. This bookshelf was relatively near the desk, meaning that Marcus himself most likely organized it himself. If the king had any luck left, he would find more correspondences between the conquerors. 

He started pulling down books and bundles of papers, careful with knowing that the material was more than 10 times his age. 

There was a stack of paper on the highest shelf that caught his eye. Unable to reach (he was on a catwalk at the moment, the true floor far from where he stood), he used the gauntlet to levitated the parchment down. It was nondescript, as if Marcus had placed it there just to get it out of the way. 

The first paper was once again addressed Marcus. 

King Siege, 

I invite you personally to the unveiling of my Palace in Mt. Cirn. I wish you to know that you inspired me to become the queen I am today, and I owe you a great debt. I have taken care to enclose a way for you to travel to Marbas, as I know the distance is great, and I hope you can look over my runes to see if they are functional. 

The letter was torn here, but there was a second piece that Marcellus found quickly. 

Was that serious enough for you, Marcus? I don’t understand why you don’t let me joke in our letters. Anyways, please come! The runes I used are of your own design, so you better be impressed. 

Breathlessly awaiting your majesty’s reply,

Adrasteia Seleukos

It was a relatively short letter, all things considered, but it revealed something about Marcus and the other conquerors—that they were friends. Not just friends, but they were in regular contact with each other.

What interested Marcellus, however, was the paper that lay underneath. It looked as if something had spilled on it years ago, the material warped. 

It was unopened, as well. The wax seal had a coat of arms that Marcellus had only seen a few times before—only on Lyre. This piqued his curiosity, so with all the delicateness he could manage, he opened the letter. 

Marcus Siege. 

I have come to you, though we have never met, with the hopes of acquiring help to save my country. We are under attack by beings that we cannot see nor hear, and it is believed that a god has sent them. Our goddess is missing. My people are being killed by the thousands. Worst of all, the ward stone has… warped. I can no longer speak to it or interact with the runes. It was created years ago by the founder of my family, and my gift with it was already weak. I ask of you to do what you can to it, to keep it from imploding and destroying Lyre, to keep our civilization from being lost.  
There is not much I can offer you, but I once had hopes we could be allies through the centuries. 

I can only beg,

Iago Lyi

Marcellus stared at the letter. He felt a rush of emotions, overwhelming him. The letter wasn’t opened. Marcus hadn’t even entertained the option of stopping the genocide of an entire country. 

It was when he put the letter back with shaky hands that he realized what had spilled on the paper.

It was blue, faded with the years, but it still shimmered, as if magic was still ingrained into the very molecules of the substance. It was the same fluid that ran in Marcellus’ horns, though in his heart he knew that it had come from Marcus. 

Something had happened before Marcus could get to the letter, and when Marcellus checked the date, it was after Diverge had already taken his body. 

It would make sense if Diverge had been the one to launch an attack against Lyre, but so many more questions remained.

Why? 

The Mt. Cirn palace was a living piece of art. Somewhere along the way, enough magic had been added to its foundations that it had become sentient—and extremely picky. It was rare that anyone, save a descendent of Adrasteia Seleukos, could be admitted safely into the castle. 

That is why it was such a surprise for Parodia to wake up one morning to the sound of a deep purr rumbling throughout her home. 

She had a fitful sleep, most likely the result of the coronation that took place the night before. It had lasted longer than she had thought, leaving her bone-tired and aching for sleep. This is another reason that she was more than annoyed at finding an intruder in her palace. 

It would be embarrassing for her to admit later that she had crept through the light halls in her pajamas, holding a glass bottle. Lucky for her, the only person to see it was Marcellus. 

“I was too busy to set up a meeting with you, and I just happened to find a series of runes dedicated to travel here.”

Parodia lowered her bottle. “Holy shit—Marcellus Siege? Like, king of Alaric, descendent of—”

“You’re literally a queen yourself. Also, I didn’t realize you were taller than me,” he said. An orb of light was hovering in the underneath the hand the gauntlet, where Marcellus was scratching it. The purr in the palace continued.

“Yeah, I’m taller than most people,” she said. Parodia straightened, attempting to flatten her hair. She narrowed her eyes at Marcellus, suddenly suspicious. 

“This could be considered an act of hostility. You’re on foreign soil, intruding in my palace…” 

Marcellus waved his free hand, gesturing to the sound around them. “This palace loves me! And besides,” he met Parodia’s eyes. “I have a proposition.”

-

They sat in a parlor that was decorated as if an old woman had lived there. Marcellus personally found the room quite adorable, reminding him of his grandmother, but being in there for any elongated time infuriated Parodia. She didn’t understand why he was so jolly at the moment, but she enjoyed their budding friendship.

The king and queen got along very well. 

“I believe that an alliance, because I don’t know what else to call it, would be very beneficial to Marbas and Alaric both,” Marcellus stated. He was comfortable, the crimson fluid in his horns swirling in lazy patterns. Parodia found herself fascinated by them, but she tore her eyes away to nod. 

“At the current stage of my power… it definitely would,” she paused to sigh. “The amount of protests against me are out of control, and I know for a fact they’re all instigated by the old councils.” 

Marcellus nodded. “They definitely are. I’ve talked to a few of the protesters, actually, some said they were paid to be there.”

Though it was not becoming, Parodia slouched. “Gods, I should have known. I don’t know what to do about them, honestly.” She suddenly sat forward as an idea shot into her mind. There was a twinkle in her purple eyes. “What about your Hierarchy? Could they maybe be seen in and around the city? It’d get the public talking, maybe discourage the families in power.”

Marcellus winced. He hadn’t spoken to any of the Hierarchy members in over 4 months, and at this point he was scared to. The problem was that they truly couldn’t help with his ultimate—it was something he would have to take on alone.

The queen saw his reaction and looked at Marcellus, expecting an answer. 

“I’ll… speak to them. They are no longer active, so that might take a while,” he said. Marcellus was hit with a pang of guilt. He had been harsh when dismissing them, and there was no way to contact Marcellus after that. He had pretty much left them in the dark. 

“I made a mistake a while back and dismissed them… God, Scarlett is going to scream at me…” 

Parodia smiled. “I think you’ll find a way to rectify it. Oh, and you’re the only person I’ve ever heard use “God” instead of “Gods”… why is that?” She inquired. 

“It’s just a habit from a long time ago,” Marcellus said, smiling weakly. “It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I’ve heard someone else say it.”

And really, it almost had been.

The town he had found Logan in had been abandoned. Marcellus couldn’t blame the survivors, of course, most of the people who survived had been scarred in more than one way. Logan broke down after she had woken up, almost not able to handle what had happened. 

She was better now, but every once in a while she lost control of the beast, unable to stop that side of herself. Exie took care of Logan when that happened. 

Marcellus found himself back on the pier, as he had been after that day. Another storm was brewing, larger than both the one that had changed Logan and the one he had weathered already. It loomed above the ocean, clouds rolling and almost taking the form of horrified faces before changing shape again. 

It was terrifying. 

But Marcellus felt drawn to these storms. As he watched it get closer, a feeling amplified within him—nervous, scared, and wanting. He wanted the magic to affect him in some way, but didn’t think it could. 

That was what scared him. Was he that self-destructive? Walking into a storm that could kill him, waiting it out, needing to feel the needle-sharp pinprick of icy rain on his skin as it tried to change him, finding it couldn’t. 

He remembered what Ankh had said about the storms, how it changed Marcus afterwards. His magic had been warped for a while, and Ankh said something that Marcellus could not forget. 

“Something unnatural crackled in the air around him after that… I feel the same around you.”

Lightning struck the water far from where Marcellus stood at the end of the pier. Nevertheless, the air felt charged with magic. 

The last time he had stayed, Marcellus had heard a voice coming not from the clouds above, but from deep inside him. 

“It’s been… years…”

Marcellus had heard no more. But what he remembered is that the voice came from everywhere and nowhere, beginning and ending at the same. One second Marcellus had just been in the storm, alone, and in the next second suddenly the words existed in his mind. 

But what was it?

He sat, dangling his legs above the rough waters. It was dangerous to be where he was, the ocean churning and striking the pier with enough force to capsize a boat. But instead of moving, he watched and waited. 

The storm got closer. 

Marcellus thought of the Hierarchy, what he could do to bring them back. There was a certain arrogance that came out when he dismissed them, and he was sure many of the members would be less than pleased to hear him out. 

Especially Scarlett—she had been through enough. Having the traumatic journey to Lairnx all alone, having the same metamorphosis Marcellus himself went through, but into an entirely new creature. She had become Marcellus’ family, and he had pretty much thrown her away. For what?

Independence from people who cared for him. A chance to do dangerous things they would have stopped him from attempting.

He couldn’t call the Hierarchy back yet, but he could entertain plans for them.

He would have to meet Siege and Jackdaw soon, however. Marcellus remembered Siege’s reaction—the shadows in the room warping, charged with pure power. It was overwhelming, and in the next instant the god was gone. They had all left after that. 

That pure power was only rivaled in Marcellus’ mind by the sight in front of him. This storm was moving faster than the ones he had seen before, and if he wasn’t certain that it wasn’t true, Marcellus would have thought it was heading directly towards him. 

There a sort of eerie calm that settled over the king, interrupted only by the regular pulse of the gauntlet. A curtain of rain fell over him. 

Siege had not been expecting a call from the king. 

The first few days after the Hierarchy split he had kept some strange hope that what had happened was some fever dream, that he’d wake up one morning and be in the Maze-Palace once again (which was something that he would have never hoped for a year ago). 

After a week, Siege gave up. He decided to try and forget what he almost had, trying to just live and travel as most gods do, never staying in one place for too long. 

Instead, Jackdaw revealed herself to be the most outgoing being in all of Splinter’s creation. Every night she would barge into wherever Siege had holed himself up in and announce, much to Siege’s displeasure, that they would be going out into town. 

It also turned out that locks were extremely ineffective at stopping her. 

The only highlight of these nights was when Siege managed to drink enough that he forgot to be godlike, allowing himself to have fun. A few times he even found himself in the bed of another, though he always left before dawn. 

Jackdaw would always be back where he was staying, cheery as always with a sparkle in her eyes, knowing. 

“Siege, you fit bastard!”

He would just fall onto the nearest couch and groan. 

Now, however, he could not drink to forget. In fact, he literally had to answer this call or he was pretty sure his head would split into two. So, he grabbed Jackdaw and pulled her alongside him.

Instead of landing in Isle Siege as he had always, the god was deposited right into the middle of the common room. The room itself hadn’t changed much (though it was quiet and not at all lively), but what grabbed the god’s attention was Marcellus. 

He had adopted a new style in the first place—his posture was less “I want to die” and more “I’m a king and legally I could kill you,” and he dressed the part. 

His eyes were clear and sharp, and rather than the lazy magic that had always buzzed around him there was a feeling that drove painful fear into Siege, because something wasn’t right. 

Siege was once again thrust back into the halls of the Maze-Palace, a relatively young god who only wanted to help the mortals. Instead he came face to face with his father, the cold king of the gods. Diverge stared at Siege and trapped him for centuries, only using the mask of Marcus Siege to smile as his son begged, sobbing. 

Marcus Siege was not here now, but the man in front of Siege could have been his child—if he had been born with Diverge as a progenitor. 

It was terrifying. What made matters worse was that the similarities with Diverge ended there, and while that may have been considered good, Siege just knew that something… else would take its home within Marcellus.

In the back of his mind, Siege wondered if their species lived only to invite evil, channeling the worst into the mortal world. Because the only examples he had were of those who had harmed him. 

Jackdaw was the first to take action, her wings flaring out behind her as she sighed heavily. “Why’d you call us, Marce? You made it pretty damn clear that you didn’t need your Hierarchy.” Her tone was flat, emphasis and emotion only on the last word. 

However, Marcellus didn’t react (though Siege didn’t expect him to). Instead, he rolled his shoulders, the motion drawing attention to the silver gauntlet. Siege said nothing, but thought of the stone that he knew pulsed with its own heartbeat. 

“I plan to raise Contraria Tellus, and I believe you two want in on this.”

Siege fainted. 

-

Siege awoke to the sound of arguing. Accompanying that sound was a furious flapping, as if Jackdaw’s wings were as irritated as she was. 

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, you don’t even know where the place is!” 

Siege groaned softly and sat up from where he had lay on a couch. 

“I know more than you think, Jackdaw… I have a plan in place if you’d shut up so I can tell you!” Marce said in a voice that was pretty much a shout. 

Jackdaw crossed her arms, noticing that Siege was up. “Tell both of us then.”

Marcellus glanced to Siege; annoyance written across his features. “Fine,” he said, taking a seat in an armchair across from the couch. 

“I’ve recently learned more about my lineage—and I have discovered that Diverge can no longer… interfere with me or even Alaric—”

Siege rolled his eyes, leaning forward to put his elbows on a pillow in his lap. “I could have told you that,” he began.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t mention it.” Marcellus was sharp, and it was clear he didn’t want to hear any more from Siege. That dismissal stung, and in a flash of anger he wanted to remind Marcellus that Siege was a god. But that curtain of unnatural energy stopped him. So, he stayed silent. 

“I know what… species I am, and what powers we have. Marcus didn’t know the first bit of it.”

Siege felt the energy expand, and by the looks of it, Jackdaw did as well. 

Something flashed in Marcellus’ eyes. He spread his hands, and what looked like a rift between worlds was opened. 

“Oh my god—Marce, you can’t—” Jackdaw said anxiously, her wings frozen in a cradling position around her; purple eyes wide with fear. 

And then it was closed. The king laughed, rolling and true. “Those storms told me who I am, and I plan to use that power to bring back Splinter.” The gauntlet shimmered and though Siege wasn’t even relatively close to it, he could feel the heartbeat, never-ending and alive. 

Jackdaw opened her mouth to say something, but instead chose to close it and fall silent. She tilted her head in consideration. 

Siege was… scared. Absolutely horrified was probably a better word for what he felt, but there was no way in Revel that he would admit that at the moment. Instead, he fell back to lean on the couch’s arm, eyes to the ceiling as he hoped his voice wasn’t shaky. 

“Why do you need our help?”

That strange energy shifted, and even when he wasn’t looking Siege could tell Marcellus’ eyes were on him. 

Marcellus’ voice was softer, almost unsure. “I’m scared of what Scarlett would do to me if I don’t call the Hierarchy back soon… you two are what will hold together all of us,” he paused in his speech as if he didn’t know what to say next.

Siege moved once again to look at Marcellus. He had his fears, yes, but Siege remembered that Marcus had freed him once before, and if anyone could bring Splinter back, this was the king who could. 

“I wish I could tell you we won’t help, but I refuse to lie. We’ll help you pull this off… first, though, I need a drink.”

So Siege stood up and walked to the fridge. As he expected, it still held alcohol and the weird sodas that Scarlett enjoyed, though a lot was expired. He found a bottle of something alcoholic and turned away from the fridge. 

Silence still reigned, Marcellus looking like he wanted to say something; Jackdaw standing still with her arms crossed. 

The god pointed his bottle at Marcellus. “You get to deal with Scarlett.”

“God damnit.” Marcellus put his head in his hands.

Scarlett, when she left the Hierarchy, was given a full ride scholarship to the culinary school in Fain. In all honesty, it had been her ultimate dream for years… but there was a bittersweet feeling associated with the end of one part of her life and the beginning of another. 

Instead of wallowing, because that would bring no success in her life, Scarlett pushed forward.

Scarlett Savanna stood outside of her restaurant, hours before its grand opening. In bright and swirling neon colors (because she couldn’t pick just one) the word “Chicago” was written as the name of the restaurant.

She took a deep breath and went in. 

The place had been bought by the generous sum the king had given her, though she and many others had put in the work to make it the world-class restaurant she envisioned. 

It was 3 levels, and even the kitchen had been split. Each level represented a different food group, only one of which came from Lairnx. She had chosen Mexican food because Alaric had access to fresh spices and meats… and because she really missed street tacos. Her second choice for one of the Earth cuisines had caused her to be torn between Asian cuisines. 

The first floor, which happened to be the largest, was split between Indian, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese food sections, where customers would sit depending on what they wanted. It would be encouraged for them to switch between, and Scarlett was prepared to offer menus stating what would match well with what they had previously had. Against her better judgment she had decided to even include a bar where she employed a world-renowned mixologist; there was no telling how this would go down. 

All in all, it was an insanely in-depth task that had taken the better part of her year. 

Now, however, she was there to begin her inspection for the first day, giving employees the rundown of what was going to happen—though she knew there’d. Maybe she’d have to channel her inner Gordon Ramsey, but only time could tell.

-

The restaurant opened to critics at noon, a relatively delayed starting time in Scarlett’s humble opinion. They had left ecstatic reviews, though the demigod had expected that.

What she had not expected was Marcellus to walk in, Jackdaw and Siege in tow. 

They sat down, and Scarlett did everything she could to not storm over there and be as passive aggressive as she could… though, there was no reason she couldn’t—it is her restaurant. 

So that’s exactly what she did. 

She slid into the booth (noticing that they weren’t quite broken in and comfortable yet), pressing up to Siege’s side as sensually and awkwardly as was possible. 

“So, where are you three from? Because I obviously know nothing about you, have never walked in on you in the bathroom, confided in you my deepest fears, and even killed for you—”

“Dear god Scarlett, I am deeply sorry for being a little bitch who couldn’t admit I needed help, but I am begging you to get off Siege because I think he’s going to explode,” Marce said, quickly and in a tone that left no room for argument. 

Scarlett had noticed that Siege’s face was growing red as he held his breath. Feeling a little sorry, she pulled away and instead focused on Marce.

“Oh, so now you can admit something you’ve done wrong, huh? It’s taken you, what… 20+ years? Even when you were a child you couldn’t—”

Marcellus’ face turned darker blue, a sign he was blushing. “Scarlett, I am sorry. But I promise I have something that will interest you…” he trailed off, eyes bright as she sighed and conceded. 

“I might have missed you, Marcellus Siege, but I will kill you next time you pull something like this. Anyways, I suggest the tacos al pastor.”

The palace was no longer empty. Though it housed fewer than before, life once again stirred in the halls; as Marcellus walked through the palace, running a hand on the roughhewn stone, the palace itself almost seemed alive with magic. 

Ever since that last storm… Marcellus had felt magic on a level he had never before. He could hear and feel the heartbeat within the gauntlet, the Olde magic that lay dormant in the floors of the Palace, the Wild magic that beat to a steady rhythm inside Mount Timoris, miles beneath the king’s feet.

It fascinated him—the motion and flowing magic that was everywhere around him, so ingrained in daily life it was unimaginable to be without it. 

But it also made him ache to feel more. The storm had washed away the worries, rain pouring and cleansing. The thunder rumbled above but seemed to be far away, almost as if it were in a different world, and Marcellus heard the voice again. 

“I… gift my power…”

This time the voice was stronger, and while it may have come and gone in a flash, the memory was clear and untainted: similar to the one that contained Diverge’s secret. He didn’t think too much into it, however, confident in the power Marcus had given his descendants. 

Marcellus had wandered into a less-used part of the palace, a wing that he had taken upon himself to renovate when he first became king. The wall was gone, replaced with windows reaching to a high ceiling. Outside it was almost picturesque: spring in the mountains, flowers blanketing the ground with trees framing a ledge that lay above Timoris. 

The king stepped outside. The air was fresh, more so than anywhere else he had been recently. It was after he took a deep breath that he realized he was not alone.

Siege stood a little ways from the king, feet dangling hazardously from the sharp ledge, swinging as if uncaring about safety. The god watched Marcellus; his eyes not emotionless. 

“You feel magic in the same way we do. Why? What have you done?” The question wasn’t phrased in an accusing way.

“I told you the truth earlier—I know what I am,” Marcellus said, looking up. He studied the sky. It was relatively clear, the midday sun bright as it chased any clouds away. 

Siege still stared at the king. “You don’t feel right to me. I fear that Diverge may be here again, that you’ve been possessed and taken control of; that there might be nothing I can do to keep your family from falling into ruin once again.”

“What?” Marcellus had only really thought Siege had contact with Marcus, he did not know that the god stuck around. 

“I’m the patron god of this country, Marcellus. I do not shirk my duties. I’ve been a…” he paused. “Almost something of an advisor to countless of your distant ancestors. Right down to the last one that lived in this world.” Siege finally looked away from the king, staring down at the city. 

Marcellus moved to sit by the god. He cleared a spot, deciding that he was decidedly unafraid of this sheer drop. 

“I know almost nothing about them. Would you mind…?” 

Siege sighed. “I will admit to having favorites. Julius was one of them, Marcus’ son. He was a good man, completely adoring of his mother and passionate about almost everything,” the god said. He thought back years and years, a small smile adorning his face. “Then there was Sejanus.” 

The king was silent. Wind blew by, stirring the otherwise peaceful scene.

“Her brother was the first born, so he was first in line to the throne. However, early on he showed that he would not be a benevolent ruler.” Siege fell silent and his smile disappeared. The god thought about these people, wondering if their lives had been worth their deaths. 

However, Marcellus wondered about these people he should call family. Were they anything like him and Cassie? Did they have the same vision Marcus had? 

“The first thing Gaius did was create a system of absolute surveillance. He always had a gift for the Sense magic, and that combined with the runic magic your family has a propensity for was the tipping point for him,” Siege said. He still did not meet Marcellus eyes, staring off to Timoris. 

“There was no safe space for the people in Alaric, they were in danger of treason or death no matter where they were. Not only this, but he began taxes on the outlying islands—” he stopped there, hand over his mouth in a sob. 

“Splinter, the islands…” 

Marcellus had never heard of them, but he feared for the way Siege had reacted. 

“Those people are mostly gone now. The La’a are Marcus’ own people, and his great-great grandson slaughtered them.” 

The king was still. “But I’ve heard of—”

“Yes, they’re not all gone, but these were people who were hopeful for their land—they had dreams and lives that depended on Gaius. He turned his back on them, and I cannot forgive him. I refuse to go into detail, but you must know that I assisted Sejanus when she killed her brother.”

An assassination. Marcellus turned from the god, instead using the gauntlet to tear some grass from its roots, his hands needing something to do with the influx of information. 

Siege saw the movement and looked at the king. “I am prepared to do the same if you ever prove to be less than a capable ruler.”

“You will not have to worry about that, I promise.” Marcellus shot a glance at Siege. “But if anything like what happened with M—” 

Siege interrupted the king. “You have my word.”

They lapsed into silence before Marcellus stood, dusting himself off and moving from the ledge. Siege did not budge. 

“I met Ankh a while back… they’re less than enthusiastic about my family. I have a lot to live up to, a lot to atone for.”

The god of dark sighed in a way that only gods could, tired and too caring; having seen more of the world than they needed to. “You know what you need to do. You know exactly how to do it.” 

There were no words after this, but Marcellus set off to the Palace, knowing more but not yet aware of what he lacked. 

Exie and Logan were the next to be called back. In their time away from Alaric, Exie had gotten more tattoos, golden and matching both her curls and eyes. Logan seemed to have more control of herself… no longer did the beast peak out from behind her eyes, teeth growing sharper when she got upset. 

The biggest surprise would have been their announced relationship, but to no one that was really shocking; it was just amazing how Exie had gone to pointing a gun at Logan’s head to staring at her girlfriend with eyes rivaling a puppy’s. 

That time had not only been spent furthering their relationship, however, and Exie revealed the fact that she had created the object needed to transport a person across many worlds without Marcellus—it just needed to be finished with runes. 

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Logan’s voice was always bright, drawing attention to her whenever she spoke. “Exie insisted that it had to be pretty… I mean, she did a good job, but I’m pretty sure that she thought you’d refuse it.”

Marcellus laughed, “You two knew that I’d call back the Hierarchy?”

“Obviously, you seem the type to get really lonely… the only one who took it seriously was Siege, but… that comes from, uh,” she made a weird face, “other problems.” 

The king nodded, sighing and standing from where he had inspected the item that lay on the counter. “He’s been really standoffish, though I feel like that’s because he’s dealt with this stuff before. The problem is that he really shouldn’t have to, y’know?”

Logan shrugged. “He signed up for that when he stuck around after you became king, you don’t have to humor him. He’s a god.” 

Marcellus sighed and tried to loosen his muscles, knowing how tense he was. Logan watched, but turned her attention back to the object. It was round, big enough to hold comfortably in the hand but not small enough to fit in someone’s pocket. Crevasses containing beams of light ribbed the orb, only contained by what looked like glass.

There was some empty space on the surface (which, when touched, felt like a softer metal), room enough for Marcellus to inscribe runes. He only had an idea of what needed to be done… though he was sure that Exie knew exactly what the requirements were. 

He left the object alone for now. It may contain volatile magic at the moment, but no one who frequented this area would mess with it. Probably. 

-

Eli was the next person who had to be recruited back into the Hierarchy. Because of this, Marcellus set aside a few days to travel to Ebun, where Eli was helping rebuild. He felt almost guilty coming at a time like this, asking for Eli’s time, nothing to promise him but an ancient empire with ancient problems.

Marcellus only knew what Eli had told him of Ebun—a country torn apart by racism and wars surrounding its borders. The man had once had a family in the country, but they were killed in a conflict with the noble families that ruled. With nowhere to turn to, Eli was contracted by Lukas Cypress to become an ambassador to other worlds. That was where they had met, on earth, when Marcellus was only a teen.

Eli became almost a father figure in his eyes, serving as support during Marcellus’ metamorphosis and helping him understand this new world. Not only this, but the man had been by his side during the issue in Jeraii; going as far to escape the country with him after Marcellus Descended. 

There was a reason that Eli was the first member of the hierarchy. 

So that guilt that seemed to follow the king everywhere was rekindled in his heart, sinking in and taking hold. Why had he refused them? 

It was only the warm glow of the gauntlet that kept him from spiraling—pulsing in a beat that was so familiar, alive and welcoming. He took a deep breath. 

Marcellus was alone in his room. Filtered light from the overcast sky drifted in from the open windows, muggy with only a slight breeze: It was more humid than normal outside, though the king couldn’t care less. He needed the fresh air, having spent too much time inside the Maze-Palace. Too many thoughts kept to himself.

There was so much happening in such a short amount of times that when Marcellus found a chance to just be, he was stressed. He needed to do something right now, find a person to talk to about Alaric, just be busy. 

Then there was a knock at his door.

The sound jarred him out of thoughts. Standing up from a chair he found himself wallowing often, the king straightened the hoodie he’d found deep in his closet. 

He opened the door and came face-to-face with Eli. The man looked the same—tall, intimidating if not for a kind demeanor and smile that always adorned his face. Eli was the sort of man that inspired others to be better people themselves. 

“Jackdaw contacted me saying that you…” Eli smiled, a gleam of amusement in his white eyes. “Well, she said you were a pussy and needed me to make sure you didn’t kill someone, or rather, yourself.” 

At that, he passed Marcellus to enter the room. His smile had faded. Eli took a seat at the chair Marcellus had only just vacated, looking at the man across from him with concern. 

“You know that I care for you, Marcellus, you know how much it pains me that I let you cast us away.” 

Eli glanced away from the king, finding the open window and closing it with a twitch of his hand. Suddenly, a panic deep within him that Marcellus hadn’t even realized was building vanished. His shoulders slumped. 

He took a seat across from Eli on his bed; uncaring about the fact he still wore shoes, Marcellus propped his legs up on the covers. He was bothered by the silence in the still room. 

“I know it has been years since the last—” Eli cut himself off abruptly. Though it was impossible to know for sure what the man was thinking, Marcellus knew what he was leading to. 

A time before the Hierarchy had formed, when Marcellus had only had himself. After Belle and Enzo cast him out of Jeraii. After Cassie refused to acknowledge what Marcellus did for her, stating that he didn’t understand, that he couldn’t know what it was like to want to die everysinglemoment—

Marcellus didn’t realize he had begun to hyperventilate until Eli was in front of him, warmth (both magical and natural) acting to ground him. Eli sat down on the bed next to him. He was solid, and in a moment of anything but weakness, Marcellus leaned into him and began to sob. 

The voice had started speaking to Marcellus even when he was not in the middle of a storm. It was growing stronger with every passing day, and though he felt as if he should worry about it, the presence of the voice felt right—natural even. 

He’d learn little tidbits of information, each interesting but vague at the same time. 

“Why are you doing the hand motion instead of just focusing your intent?”

“Your gods gave you this power, I expect you to use it.”

“You know who I am.”

And yet… Marcellus couldn’t question what the voice said, or even think about it. He’d find himself trying to focus on the presence, trying to figure it out, and all of a sudden it would vanish. He would be back at square one, only knowing what the voice had said.

Did he know who this voice was? 

There was no answer when he asked. 

Marcellus grew stronger each passing day. It was apparent to everyone in the Maze-Palace, even the once-dormant stones buzzed with forgotten and ancient magic as the king passed. Dust lifted, the air was no longer stale, the sunlight streaming through stained glass windows seemed somehow brighter. 

Siege was reminded once again of Marcus. The uncanny resemblance between the two had always caught him off guard, but the combined presence of magic surrounding the younger king often thrust Siege back into the past. 

Eyes following Marcus’ figure as he marveled at magic, a sense of want as Marcus would explain something excitedly to Siege, the absolute fear and pain he felt as Marcus’ eyes went blue for the first time. 

Siege found himself refusing to meet Marcellus’ eyes unless he had to. 

Though even that was becoming easier. Siege rarely saw him anymore, and if he did, Marcellus was usually deep in a conversation with Exie or Jackdaw. 

If it had been two years ago, Siege would have been put-out, maybe even upset over the lack of attention. Now, however, it relieved him to some degree. The constant worrying if he was doing enough to help the king had lessened, replaced with a want to get out. 

That was why Siege frequented that courtyard on the edge of Mount Timoris. It may be cold outside (though the below freezing temperatures were little more than a bother to a god), but the still and quiet air was a relief. Anything like the time Marcellus joined him there had not happened again. Siege suspected that he purposely avoided coming at the same time as him—but he would rather die than ask Marcellus about that.

Siege was headed to the courtyard to clear his mind when he saw the king leaning against a wall, eyes closed. Marcellus murmured words that Siege could not hear, but as soon as he stopped the god noticed something odd and stopped in his tracks.

Magic swirled around Marcellus, not unlike normal, but… it was unnatural. It crackled like lightning Siege had only seen in a storm, filling the air and almost causing him to choke on the sheer wrong of the magic. 

Then all of a sudden it was gone.

Marcellus’ eyes snapped open, and for a second Siege thought he saw the wretched blue that destroyed his life, but instead… they were brown. Normal. Siege realized he was shaking and forced himself to stop, meeting the gaze of the king. 

“What the fuck was that?!”

His eyebrows raised in surprise, eyes flickering to the side before he attempted a sheepish smile. “What—what do you mean?”

“That—Splinter, I don’t even know if it was magic…” Siege’s eyes narrowed and he stepped forward, closer to the king. “Do you know what you’re doing? If you drag us all down with you—” 

Siege took a deep breath, anger not subsiding; he needed to be careful with his words. “I promised you that I would not allow you to—”

Marcellus cut him off this time, that same magic growing alongside his voice. “Why can’t you just fucking trust me? I see the way you watch my every action like a hawk…” The king had moved closer, and Siege realized that (for a god) he wasn’t that tall. Marcellus had a good few inches on him, the horns creating an even larger height difference, intimidating as the crimson fluid swirled in angry patterns. 

“I swear to god, you are a guest in my palace. I don’t fucking care what history you have with this place and my family, because you know what?” His eyes were infuriated, and for once Siege drew no connection to Diverge’s own cold fury; fire and ice had no similarities. 

“I will carve my path in this world, and I don’t care whether or not you fit into the picture. You, Siege, are not important.” Marcellus smiled in a way that further proved his anger, teeth sharp and predatory. “You will learn the differences between my family and I.” 

The king turned, the oppressive and otherworldly magic not lifting. “You’re lucky to even still be here, Siege. You forget I helped bring down Sharp as well.”

He disappeared into his room down the hallway, the opposite of where Siege had been heading. 

Siege doubled over and retched, the magic coating his throat and mouth, making him feel as if he had eaten something poisonous. Tears welled up in his eyes as the feeling didn’t dissipate. As an immediate reaction, the shadows in the corridor swelled to cradle the god, and pulled back in a second to reveal Siege was gone. 

Siege was dispensed from the shadows, kneeling on the ground, in a clearing he had only seen once before. This time it was empty. 

The sky was clear, the bright and full moon coating the grass and trees with light enough to read by. A worn gravestone looked the same as it had years ago when Siege received the gauntlet from Elysian. 

The god stood, moving slowly before the stone, wondering if he could make out any engravings, urged on by something he couldn’t understand. 

It was with a start he realized that he had been in this exact clearing before, not only with Elysian—but thousands of years ago, standing hand in hand with Ankh and Jove. 

Marcus’ grave. 

It was with this memory and the unnatural magic that accompanied Siege that something stirred deep under where he stood. 

Marcellus found himself not regretting what transpired between him and Siege. He knew for a fact that he had scared the god, and though in the moment he had chosen his words carefully, there was a chance that Siege would retaliate. 

But deep within himself, Marcellus knew he successfully cowed the god. He had taken advantage of the fact that Siege knew his family line—besides Marcellus. 

Siege didn’t truly know what he did to aid Belle and Enzo, he didn’t know the lengths Marcellus had gone to conquer the gauntlet, and he didn’t know the power Marcellus constantly had at his fingertips.

And while that may scare the god, it scared Marcellus to an even greater degree. He was terrified of himself in a way that he had never felt before… it changed the way he thought, and the voice looked on in emotionless approval.

Each time Marcellus used the strange magic that he had discovered, the voice grew in magnitude, sharing tips and marveling at how quickly and adeptly the king used the abilities. 

Now, it would be wrong to say that he didn’t feel like himself. Everything felt correct to him, as if he was born for that sort of magic, anything else feeling slightly uncomfortable. There was so much he could do now. He thought back to Earth, knowing that if he had stayed there he would have ended up without any of what had now. 

The Hierarchy, Scarlett and her fulfilled dreams, Eli’s rebuilding country… they were all things he wanted to—no—needed to see, and he wouldn’t give them up. 

Marcellus was brought out of his thoughts by himself, the urge to stand up and move being his forefront need. He stood up from the desk where he had been planning another excavation project in Lyre. Since finding the location of the warped ward stone (and Iago’s letter), Marcellus’ interest was piqued, and after seeing the epicenter of the damage to the city, he wondered if there was even more to the story. 

Invaders that could not be seen… he had heard of no such thing before, but Marcellus would bet all he had that it had something to do with Diverge. The god managed to find a way to become involved with everything—be it mortal instances or ruining other gods. 

Not only this, but Jackdaw found something the other day that would change everything. 

Evidence that Iago, the last ruler of Lyre, was still alive. 

Jackdaw hadn’t told Marcellus much about Iago. Just that yes, he was alive, and as slippery as an eel (her exact words had been much more graphic). She left to him to find the deity, stating that “you know enough weird magic to do your own dirty work.”

Which… wasn’t wrong. 

And that was how Marcellus ended up in a country he had never visited before, in the middle of a city that was currently in the middle of a hurricane. Not a cool one either, it was barely considered a hurricane. 

Kaorz was a place Marcellus planned to visit eventually (preferably without his most unique feature), but at the moment he was not here to take in the sights and visit the world-famous clubs. Instead, he was tracking down a person who was supposed to have died over two thousand years ago with the rest of his people.

As Marcellus saw now, Iago sat alone at a small coffee shop, watching him through the window with a look that said “God, again?”

When he entered the store he didn’t receive any particularly odd looks, though he attributed that to the large Foca population that lived in Kaorz. He stopped at the counter to order the least-bitter-sounding thing he could, which ended up being something to do with gingerbread. It embarrassed him to no end that he couldn’t stomach plain coffee. 

He took a seat across from Iago, obscuring their view of the rain. If Iago was bothered by this, it didn’t show on their face. 

“I’ve met many people in the last year that are supposed to be dead, Iago Lyi.” 

Iago lifted their chin. Their hair was long and glossy, inky black in contrast to their pale skin. Iago’s eyes, however, were a jarring yellow; venomous though lacking the will to bite. 

“I haven’t heard my last name in years, Marcellus. It would be best to let the word die in peace, as I was supposed to have,” they stated, slanted eyes blank. Iago leaned back into the booth, somehow comfortable with this encounter. 

Marcellus studied them, unsure of how to properly proceed. 

“I found a letter you sent to my ancestor, Marcus… I…” he paused before continuing. “I am aware he did not send aid to Lyre, and I can only hope that—” 

“You are not aware of what really transpired, I see… the king of the gods, Rivsé, as I have called him, the scourge of my land. He was the one who sent those soldiers, shadows of people who died and pledged themselves to him.” Iago allowed the words to sink in. They were calculating Marcellus’ reaction, he knew, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. 

“When I found the letter, there was evidence that Marcus had fought the god for control, but he… failed.” The last word was weaker, Marcellus realized, and an ache grew in the area he knew that blue fluid came from. “He would have helped you, I know it, but now…”

Iago let his sentence fade before replying, voice calmer and far away. “It’s too late for those sort of promises, Marcellus, what I knew as Lyre is gone. Why are you here?”

Marcellus didn’t miss a beat when answering, straightforward as he dared. “There’s more to the story that either of us know, I believe… Iago, what do you know of Contraria Tellus?” 

Iago tensed up. They briefly closed their eyes before taking a breath and looking at Marcellus, focused and suddenly extremely alert. “I did not realize living people still spoke of the land of the gods… what is your goal? What do you know?” Iago was intrigued, he could tell, and Marcellus felt excitement at finding another person who could speak of, who knew what he was looking for. 

“Diverge’s secret was passed down my family. I know what he did to Splinter, to Lyre, to Contraria… What I don’t know, is why.” 

Iago shook their head. “That still doesn’t explain why you came to me for this. I know you currently have control over Lyre, but that still doesn’t—”

“I plan to raise Contraria Tellus, which would cripple Diverge. Splinter would have a chance to come back…” He paused before continuing, making sure to present himself as confident, when in reality he was not. “I want to harness the power of your family’s ward stone.”

There was a sharp sort of silence, neither wishing to breathe in or acknowledge the tension. Finally, however, Iago spoke. 

“That is a dangerous task. When I was born… my gift with those runes was already weak. I was unable to speak or manipulate them as my parents were. But you,” Iago said, eyes alight. “You have a gift with that magic, unlike I. You can harness the power, I know… Take me to your palace, Marcellus Siege, and I can unlock Lyre for you.”

Marcellus grinned, teeth sharp and for once not threatening. “I look forward to that moment.” 

The night before Iago would accompany Marcellus to Lyre was filled with strange dreams. 

Faces were all he saw, looming above him in a space empty besides rolling dark clouds they appeared in, visible from everywhere around him on the horizon. 

Eyes rolling back in their sockets, faces stretched in unheard screams. Marcellus stood in the empty area gazing at them. He didn’t feel anything, numb to everything—almost curious instead. Answers came to him after what seemed like a millennia. 

There—a voice. It called to him through the storm, and slowly the clouds calmed. There were no more faces. 

(If Marcellus had been truly aware, he would have recognized what he saw as what lay between worlds)

The clouds remained the dark red and purple they were, but they no longer were angry, no longer carrying the fury of a storm. Marcellus stood and watched, listening… 

“You’re one step closer to your goal, Marcellus Siege. One step closer to me, one step closer to your end… our beginning.”

As it had before, the words came and went in a flash. At one moment the king hadn’t known what was to be said, and in the next the words were suddenly there—suddenly in his mind, taking root. 

In his dream, Marcellus understood what this meant. When he woke up, that understanding was gone. 

He didn’t remember the dream, really, all that remained was the idea—no, the knowledge that there would be another beginning after Contraria Tellus was alive once more. He didn’t know what this beginning would be like, what would become of who he knew himself as. 

But he didn’t fear that unknown (he didn’t fear much these days, even when it came to himself). What he did fear was the event coming up in a few hours. 

Iago had proven to be… weird. Normally, this would have not bothered him, but there was something about the way they moved around the palace, too careful in their steps. Their eyes were too knowing as well, wide and decidedly not deterred from anything. Marcellus likened them to an old cat. 

Despite this, Marcellus got along well with the conqueror. He knew a lot about magic that Marcellus had never looked into, and that was a resource that the king would take advantage of.

“Potion magic is… testy, one of the types of magic that few have an aptitude for,” Iago said. Their long, pale fingers tapped quickly on the arm of the chair they sat in. “I would claim that I created it, but I just discovered what was already there, and…” there was a pause. “Spread it. Your ancestor, Marcus Siege, truly created the rune alphabet we use today. That is the main difference.”

“What I have created, however, are the basic potions taken today to block certain diseases and infections. I have taken so much from this world… it took me years to perfect those potions.”

The potions mentioned were akin to vaccines on Earth, though one potion accounted for and gave protection for more than just one disease. Though Marcellus didn’t know much about what they contained, or really did, he was stunned that Iago was the one that created such a thing. The amount of research and time it must have taken was insane, not to mention the fact that they hadn’t gotten any credit. Iago silently gave all they had, expecting nothing in return. 

They lapsed into silence, and it seemed as if Iago was content with that. 

Marcellus took a breath, not quite disrupting the moment, but it was enough to draw Iago’s attention. He focused, wondering slightly if he was doing the correct thing. 

That tear he had shown Siege and Jackdaw opened once again. It hovered above Marcellus’ open palm, still and unnerving. Looking through the tear would reveal colors that those native to Alaric were familiar with—the deep red and angry purple that was seen in the Ipos’ blood, the clouds on the western coast, the flag that carried Alaric’s seal. 

Iago looked on. Their face betrayed no emotion, though in a way Marce knew that the other person wasn’t letting on about something they should. 

“There is a tale that was passed down by my family. You just happen to coincide with this story, Marcellus, or I would not be here with you now. But this ability you have—” Iago cut themself off.

**Author's Note:**

> omg did you actually read this?


End file.
